Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
D espite Ilya’s confident words, he’d told Mario it would take a little time to make arrangements for their practice space. It was easy enough, he’d said, to work on the static straps because Ilya and Derek had had a static rig installed in their house, which they’d had placed in their two-story family room back when they’d first gotten married. But all the equipment for a flying set-up was more difficult to come by, except in the Circo Del Artes performance space. Unfortunately, however, that area was needed by the cast and crew of Phantasma, which would run until one month before Capriccio opened.
So while Ilya was calling in favors — or as Mario suspected, mortgaging his soul — Mario had nothing to do on the day after the disaster. He was operating on low sleep, since nightmares involving Ilya’s crushed and mangled body woke him more than once, but he was too restless to stay at home. He’d checked in with the group chat, and Angel had told him he was welcome to come over to Daphne’s house to keep her company.
That was how he ended up in Daphne’s living room, watching as the stressed Naga slithered around, wringing her hands, or, when she transformed back into her fully human form, compulsively checked her phone. There had been no word about Cole, and the search and rescue operation had been called off that morning, without finding a trace of Cole as either human or coyote.
“I can’t stand it,” Daphne said as she paced back and forth across the tile floor. “I can’t stand not knowing, thinking he’s out there hurt.”
Angel nodded, standing up and putting an arm around Daphne’s shoulders. “We know, honey, we know. Look, why don’t you go take a shower? It’ll help relax you.”
“Okay.” Daphne’s shoulders slumped dejectedly, and Mario’s heart broke for her.
Daphne let Angel lead her away, and Mario heard the shower start. A few minutes later, Angel returned, sinking down onto the other end of the sofa and running her fingers through her long, dark hair. She was a beautiful girl, but the strain of the last few days had left her pale and wan, and the dark circles under her eyes were almost as bad as Daphne’s.
“I don’t know what to do, Mario. She’s a wreck, but she still thinks he’s alive.”
Mario looked at her somberly. “What do you think?”
Angel grimaced, then dropped her voice very low. “I think he’s dead. I think he was gone before we even went to look for him. But it’s just a feeling, you know?”
“You can’t tell for sure?” There was no way Daphne could hear them with the water running, but he spoke softly as well. “Sorry, I’m pretty ignorant about witchcraft, so I don’t know what you can and can’t do.”
“On this world? Not much.” She held her hands out, palms up. “Witchcraft isn’t like what Persephone and Mr. Ame do. They hold power within themselves. They were born with it. It’s like a shifter can change even if they’re on a magically dead world like this, because it’s in them. It’s different for me. I have some magical energy, but mostly I draw on the magical fields around me. But this world is used up. I feel the echoes of power, but the magic itself is mostly gone. Which means I have to rest a long time to do spells that would have been easy back home.”
“I understand.” Mario did; his abilities were all within himself, and even on a world like this one, he’d been able to access what he needed. “So you probably used your magic up that night trying to find him?”
“Yeah.” Angel sighed. “I should be able to try again in a day or two, but for now….”
“Hey, you’re doing all you can,” Mario told her. “Damn, I wish the Carnival would drop back in. Maybe we could figure this out.”
“I think we’re on our own,” Angel replied. “Last time it was here, I paid a visit. I wanted to say hi to Persephone and thank her for her guidance. She said we’d meet again someday, but not for a while.”
Mario smiled crookedly. “Yeah, I got that impression when I left, too.” He tilted his head toward the bathroom. “What can we do for her?”
“I think, just be here for her. I’m staying with her for now, but I can move in if I need to. She shouldn’t be alone.” Angel looked angry then. “It’s not fair! They crossed the multiverse to find one another, and they were so happy.”
“I know,” Mario agreed. He knew how he would feel if Ilya were suddenly taken from him — as had almost happened last night. “I had no idea this world was so dangerous.”
“It really is. Cole isn’t even the first we’ve lost. Remember Gina? I think you might have met her at that first party.”
Mario frowned. “Did they ever find her?”
Angel shook her head. “Her roommates put what little she had in storage, I think, but she never came back.”
Mario felt bad that he hadn’t known her, but there were so many people came and went in the Carnival, and he mostly got to know those who stuck around. “I hope that doesn’t happen often. You know, people going missing.”
Angel looked thoughtful for a moment. “In general or among the Travelers?”
“Both? Either?” Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was all the bad things that had been happening lately, starting with Gina and up to the crane. The problem was that he had little frame of reference for what a “normal” amount of tragedy was for anywhere outside the Carnival.
“I have no idea,” she said. “When I left the Carnival, it was just me and Daphne. We wanted to make it big in entertainment, so we tried out for shows on the strip. Some of us Travelers who came here left the Carnival in other cities, but somehow a lot of us wound up in Vegas. I guess because it’s easier to find work here with any strange ‘talents’ we have.”
“But in the time you’ve been here, do you know anyone else who’s gone missing?”
Angel furrowed her brow. “There were a couple who didn’t stick around for long. A werewolf up and left one night a couple of years ago, but he’d lost his mate, so none of us were surprised he moved on. And one other one was Alia. She was always saying she had dreams bigger than Vegas, that she was saving up to go to Hollywood and try to make it as an actress. One night about two years ago, she cleared her stuff out of her apartment and left a note saying something like ‘wish me luck.’ We never heard from her again.”
It didn’t add up to anything, and yet it bothered him. The thing was, people left not just Vegas, but Circo, all the time. He might just feel paranoid because the universe tried to drop a crane on his head.
He wanted so much to help Daphne, but there really wasn’t anything he could do. So he went back to his quiet apartment and channel-surfed for a while, as he wondered if Ilya was having any luck. He hoped so; if one afternoon of his own company was driving him this crazy, he wouldn’t be able to stand several days of it.
Fortunately, however, he received a text from Ilya that night.
Got it. 8AM tomorrow.
It was followed by an address in Henderson. Ilya’s contacts had come through. Now if the bad luck that had been plaguing Circo would give them a break, they’d finally be able to fly.
The next morning, Mario wasn’t nearly as optimistic.
“This is… interesting.” He looked around the red and white striped tent, wondering if Ilya was serious.
Ilya raised a brow at him. “I would have thought you’d feel right at home.”
“In a way, yes,” Mario stepped back from the center of the ring, peering up at the antique crane high over their heads. “But everything in the Carnival was new.” Well, newish. Kept new, at least, by Errante’s magic. “This all looks older than… um, you.”
To Mario’s surprise, Ilya chuckled. “It is older than me by quite a few years. But everything works. Maxime is a stickler for keeping everything in working order.”
“Indeed, I am. This was my father’s. He and his brother were the first of the great straps duos. You’ll see, young Mario. Just because something is old doesn’t mean it has no worth.”
The man who spoke had wrinkles and white hair, but he was tall and still carried himself like an athlete. His blue eyes were full of amusement, and no doubt he thought Mario was some brash young upstart with no respect for age. Mario wondered what Maxime would think if Mario said he was old enough himself to be Maxime’s grandfather.
Mario reminded himself that Maxime was helping them, and, more importantly, he was Ilya’s friend. “I was just wondering if it will act like the Circo equipment. If we’re going to work on the choreography, it needs to handle in the same way.”
“It will.” Ilya looked up at the rigging, the straps swaying slightly in the cool breeze being blown over them. “I’ve flown here before.”
The tent was set up in a large structure that Ilya said had once been an aircraft hangar owned by a very rich and eccentric man. Now it was owned by Maxime, who had once performed on the straps himself, then had retired to the Nevada desert and established a business that was half-circus museum and half-aerialist training school.
“Okay, I’m in,” Mario said. If Ilya trusted the equipment, Mario wouldn’t argue.
“Then get warmed up.”
Mario had worn practice clothing under his street clothes, so he moved to one side of the tent to strip off his jeans. As he did, Maxime walked over, while Ilya was checking the straps.
“I’ve seen you perform, you know,” Maxime told him. “The Flying Galliers, right? In the Carnival of Mysteries?”
Perhaps Mario shouldn’t have been surprised, but he hadn’t expected to run into someone who wasn’t a Traveler — and he’d checked when Ilya had introduced Maxime — who had seen their show. Of course, thousands upon thousands of people had attended over the years, but it still felt decidedly odd.
“That’s right,” Mario replied lightly. “I hope you enjoyed it.”
“Very much,” Maxime said. “In fact, I’ve been to that Carnival several times over the course of my life, in many places all over the world. My father and uncle were always checking out the competition, as it were.” He tilted his head to one side, blue eyes bright. “There was a young man named Mario performing for them when I was in my teens. Your grandfather, perhaps?”
“Great uncle,” Mario replied. After Ilya had come up with the article from almost two hundred years before, Mario had thought up a plausible story in case he ever needed it. “We Galliers tend to look similar, and the family names are reused a lot. It’s an illusion of sorts, I suppose. It makes the Galliers seem eternal.”
Maxime seemed delighted with the explanation, judging by his smile. “Showmen through and through.”
Mario straightened, having folded his clothes and placed them in a neat pile. “We’re not so different, you and I. Performing is what we know.”
“Indeed it is. And I see Ilya is getting impatient.” Maxime chuckled. “Come, let’s not keep him waiting.”
Ilya seemed to be frowning, though the expression cleared as Mario walked toward him. They began with the warm-up routines they normally used, stretching muscles and limbering up. Ilya had rigged the straps in the same way they’d been using in the practice space, so they started out with the mirrored sequences as usual, getting a feel for the straps and the response of the rigging.
Maxime stayed, and at Ilya’s request, he operated the manual crane so they could work on the elevated moves and drops. This rigging sounded different from what had been at Circo, but it responded well and felt secure to Mario. He gained confidence in the setup as they worked through the routine, and he relaxed from a tension he’d not been aware he was carrying. The collapse of the rigging had been a freak accident, but deep down, he’d been wondering if this older equipment might do the same.
“That looks very good,” Maxime said as they took a short break for water and to keep from overusing the same set of muscles. “I recognize your touch in that choreography, Ilya. Mario is a good match. You mirror one another almost perfectly.”
“We’ll see how it goes when we start to fly,” Ilya responded. He inclined his head to acknowledge Maxime’s praise, but Mario knew Ilya was a perfectionist who believed that no matter how well they did, they could do it just a bit better.
“You’re ready for that?” Mario asked quietly.
Ilya looked at him, his gaze steady. “Yes. I think it’s time I remember what I love doing.”
Mario nodded. He was glad that Ilya was moving past the limits he’d placed on himself because of grief. He knew it didn’t mean Ilya missed Derek any less, but perhaps flying again would help him heal in the same way it helped Mario to cope with his own problems.
“Do you want to start with the finale?” Maxime asked. Mario noticed he was holding several pages of printout with directions for the entire nine minute long routine.
“Yes. I already know Mario can do it, so I’ll need to go through it solo first. Mario, if you can start the music?”
Mario watched as Ilya set up, just as he had done only two days before. Ilya turned easily into the Hanged Man position, and there was a look of peace on his face, a calm sort of inner stillness Mario had never seen on his face before. Yet Mario felt anxious, no doubt still on edge because of what had happened after he’d last performed this section. But he started the music, moving to stand far enough back that he could watch Ilya perform.
Time seemed to slip away, and Mario recalled the beauty of Ilya in flight that he had witnessed years before. He found himself breathless as Ilya went through the routine, his muscular body arching and extending, turning and twisting as he flew confidently on the straps. There were a few points where his moves needed a bit of polishing, but they were things that only another aerialist would catch: a slightly early release from a planche, a flexed rather than a pointed toe on a drop. He was still impressed with what Ilya could do and how natural he looked diving through the air. Mario ached to soar with him.
When the sequence was over, Ilya spiraled gracefully to the ground, and Mario applauded. Ilya looked startled at the sound, but then he smiled slightly. His hazel eyes seemed suspiciously bright; apparently the flight had been emotional for the normally stoic Ilya, and Mario’s instincts told him to give Ilya a bit of space.Finally, Ilya released the straps and came over to where Mario had joined Maxime.
“Shall we try it together?” Ilya asked, and Mario nodded, his heart beating faster. They had worked on the static moves together, but he had been anticipating flying with Ilya since the moment Ilya had asked Mario to be his partner.
“I’m ready if you are,” Mario replied.
At Ilya’s nod, Mario moved to the other set of straps, drawing in a deep breath. He set up in the Hanged Man position, then waited as Maxime started the music and it counted toward the mark for the segment.
He sensed Ilya’s presence, felt it when the music reached the correct spot and the rigging moved. Then he could see Ilya in flashes as they tumbled from the starting position, and then they were soaring through the air, reaching out toward one another as they swung past. Mario could feel the yearning in the music and in his own heart as they continued, always striving but never touching. And then they reached the end, arcing around one another as the straps entwined, pulling them closer and closer with each revolution. It seemed to take forever, as they stared at one another, spiraling around a central point that grew smaller and smaller.
And then their reaching hands grasped, their fingers entwining as they slowed. Their bodies mimicked the straps above, torsos pressed together, then legs engaging as the music faded and Maxime lowered the rigging until their feet touched the ground.
They were still pressed together, both of them breathing in sync that had nothing to do with practice and everything, Mario thought, to do with the resonance between them. He’d never felt the pure connection that he did now, as they looked at one another from only inches apart, and Mario longed to close that gap, to press his lips to Ilya’s and know that, if only for a moment, Ilya was his.
“That was stunning.”
Maxime’s words broke their silent rapport, and Ilya stiffened slightly. Reluctantly, Mario pulled away, dropping the straps and turning aside so that he could have a moment to gather himself. He was annoyed at the disruption of that sublime moment, and yet he was grateful as well; if Maxime hadn’t interrupted, Mario might have acted on his desires.
Ilya had released his own straps and stepped away as well, crossing to the video recorder. Mario headed to where he’d left his things, retrieving the towel and water bottle he’d brought. He was grateful for the jockstrap and codpiece that he wore under his tights for safety. It meant that he wouldn’t be embarrassed by having Ilya see the way he’d become aroused during the routine.
“You’d never know you hadn’t been flying together for years,” he heard Maxime say. “That was a joy to watch.”
“It worked well,” Ilya admitted, and Mario snorted quietly. The routine couldn’t have meant as much to Ilya if he could still understate what had been, to Mario, a sublime experience. Still, he was sure that Ilya must have felt something from the way he’d looked at Mario as they had flown. “Mario, come see.”
Mario crossed to the other men and looked at the playback. He was happy to see proof that the connection he’d felt as they flew had been real enough that he could see it in the video, and it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part.
“Let’s do it again,” Ilya said, placing the recorder back on its tripod and setting it to the correct angle
“Of course.” Mario was more than ready to fly with Ilya again. And if he needed a cold shower when they were finally done for the day, it would have nothing to do with the Las Vegas heat.